My father fathered me far out. Desert dreamscapes dripping w/ sand. Dripping in my       
brain. Dripping in his. 

He showed me how to use a .38 when he was 38 and robbing a station on 38th avenue of
the 38th state.

I never met my mother, but I met women who did the same thing in the cab of my
father’s Ford 350 while my mother wasn’t mothering.

I’d sit in the bed of the 350 and while the truck rocked, I’d look longingly at stars
shooting skyward, and pretend I rode rhinos in a farther away desert.
            Far away from here. Far away from the farthest dream. Far away from forever.
            Far away was never far away from father’s Ford 350.


I dreamed of desert rhinos. I dream of dreaming and when I dream I hope to dream
again of these desert rhinos so that I don’t discover myself with other fathers like my
father.


Pretty things are pretty forever. Father said this. He took that .38 to 45th street and he
shoulda brought a .45, and I saw then that pretty things aren’t pretty forever.